


won't look down, won't open my eyes

by sirensongs (orphan_account)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-28
Updated: 2014-07-28
Packaged: 2018-02-10 18:58:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2036343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/sirensongs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>the one where lydia is coping (or isn't) and stiles is always there for her.</p><p>inspired by <a href="http://8tracks.com/blackstairs/party-girls-don-t-get-hurt">this fantastic fanmix</a> & specifically <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8DS-h67qEiY">this song</a></p><p>thank you so much to my amazing amazing amazing <a href="http://just-a-girl-who-writes.tumblr.com/">beta</a> who helped me so much</p>
            </blockquote>





	won't look down, won't open my eyes

The first time Lydia thinks she’s lost herself, that she’s really lost herself, she’s slung onto some random UCLA guy on a couch in someone’s basement.

Claire Champion, a popular girl in Lydia’s grade, invited Lydia to come with her to a party full of college kids and Lydia thinks there isn’t anything she wouldn’t rather do than be at a party full of people, but this is grieving. This is coping.

Lydia isn’t the type of girl to let things get to her. She… She cares. Of course she cares. Who doesn’t care about what other people think, and whether or not boys think they’re pretty? Of course she cares, but other people don’t need to know that. And she knows she’s pretty, and smart, and she’s a catch, and she tells herself these things all the time, but sometimes she forgets.

“Do you think I’m pretty?” Her voice is raspy. Vodka drips off her breath.

Mark, Matt or Mike—whatever his name is, nods. He’s got a hand on her back when she falls onto his lap, passed out.

Stiles gets there about twenty minutes later to pick her up. Claire’s in the kitchen, flirting with some frat boys, and Lydia is crying on the couch by herself.

“Lydia,” Stiles says, hurt by the sight. Her heels are on the floor and she’s blubbering, black mascara trailing down her cheeks and her lips puffy and redder than usual.

A guy Stiles doesn’t recognize comes down the stairs into the basement, his hands raised defensively. “Is she okay? We didn’t do anything, bro, don’t worry.”

“You left her down here all alone,” Stiles raises his hand to his face, palm sliding over his forehead and ending when he’s grabbed a fistful of his own hair.

“Lydia,” Stiles says again, leaning over and picking up her shoes before using his free hand to prop her up, getting her to stand, body weight pressed against his side.

They don’t talk about it in the morning because Stiles knows.

He knows she’s dying inside, and she’s broken, and he doesn’t want to make her feel any shittier than she already does.

So he just dumps chocolate syrup into her coffee so it’s like her Starbucks mocha, gives her a ton of bacon and pancakes, and leaves the Harry Potter Weekend running on the TV for her while she tries not to cry again.

Sitting there in his boxers and his huge Beacon Hills Lax t-shirt, Lydia chomps on the bacon and gives him a weak smile across the coffee table. “Thanks, Stiles.”

Stiles nods, offering her a little smile back. He may or may not be pleased with himself.

♡

“I’m not jealous of you,” Lydia insists, throwing her phone into her purse and strutting across the store to the cardigans.

Malia raises a brow, following closely behind. “Jealousy has a distinct scent, Lydia. Is it because Stiles likes me?”

Lydia frowns, rolling her eyes. “Malia, maybe what you’re smelling is your teeth. Did you even brush this morning?”

Claws find a navy blue striped cashmere sweater and Lydia swats away Malia’s hand. “Malia! Sweetheart, you cannot shred up $300 sweaters. Okay? That’s not a very normal-teenage-girl thing to do.”

Now sporting her own frown, Malia nods and turns around to look at the accessories. Lydia puts her selections away and tears Malia away from the necklaces, promptly leaving J. Crew before one of the associates noticed the slash marks in the sweater.

“Maybe,” Lydia say, in her typical offhand manner as they ride the escalator up in H&M. “Maybe I’m jealous of the fact that you have it so easy.”

“I don’t have it easy,” Malia replies, “I have to study a hundred times harder than everyone else just to be at an eighth-grade level. And I can barely coordinate outfits.”

Lydia laughs. “Please. You have me for that stuff, remember?”

“And Stiles,” Malia says.

“And Stiles,” Lydia agrees. “And Scott and Kira. Look. The point is you’re a werecoyote. A fucking werecoyote. Okay? And I’m a banshee. What the hell does a banshee even really do, Malia? And just—Allison and Aiden and… even Jackson.”

Malia looks confused.

“Nevermind,” she chuckles. “Forget it, seriously, I’m just being sentimental today. Have you ever considered crop tops?” Lydia asks as they reach a section of florals. “God knows you have the body for it.”

♡

Lydia sits down on the edge of Stiles’ bed, bone-tired, and puts her face in her hands. “I just… Sometimes I just wish my life was normal.”

“Yeah, we all do,” Stiles says, eyes on Lydia.

Here she is, wearing a polyester polo shirt in some hideous shade of blue. Over her heart it says ‘Beacon Hills Super Market’. She’s wearing khaki pants and tennis shoes. She couldn’t feel any less Lydia Martin.

“Real life is a pain in the ass,” she says finally. “Maybe if that wine would have come out of the carpet we could have saved all of that money on the repairs. And then my mom wouldn’t have made me get a job.”

Stiles raises a brow, “Lydia, you’re assistant manager, I don’t think that’s necessarily a bad thing. You can use the money for more Prada.” The brand name is somewhat foreign to him and sounds strange coming out of his mouth, but he wants to comfort her.

Lydia frowns, “Stiles, I can’t. I have to help pay for the repairs. And I have to pay off my card, and pay for my phone, and my gas, and my food, and on top of that, as if it couldn’t get any better, I still don’t know how the hell to control my Banshee powers.”

Stiles remains silent while her eyes sting with fresh tears.

“You know, it’s silly, but I thought by now it would get better,” Lydia continues, “But it never will, will it? I mean, we don’t get to just go to college and have a normal life. We’re going to be freaks forever. Monsters.”

Stiles moves from the computer chair to kneel in front of Lydia. “Hey, no. Lydia, don’t you remember what you said? ‘Not all monsters do monstrous things’. Remember that?”

“Yeah,” Lydia nods, wiping away at her eyes with the back of her hand before the tears can spill over. “I’m sorry, Stiles. It seems like I’m just having a mental breakdown every day now.” She sniffs.

“It’s okay,” Stiles says, and he means it. “I’ve had my fair share. But you just have to remember that we’re all here for you, okay? And once this whole Benefactor mess is over, you and I are still gonna go to Comic-Con, okay? And we’re gonna dress up and everything.”

“What are we going to be?” Lydia asks, biting back the rest of her tears.

Stiles laughs, “I don’t know. Rory and Amy?”

“You’re a dork,” Lydia pouts, but she offers him a small smile. “You know I’m not a big Who-girl.”

“Whovian,” Stiles says sheepishly.

“What?”

“Who fans… They’re Whovians…”

Lydia is not amused.

“We can be Peeta and Katniss,” Stiles offers, a grin on his face. “We will be the best Peeta and Katniss ever.”

Lydia runs her hand down her braid and nods, her smile growing. “For District Twelve.”

♡

A bright crescent moon aids the lampposts in illuminating the park. Fog rolls in while the lights occasionally flicker.

“They’re definitely coming.” Scott seems the most levelheaded.

Kira unsheathes her sword, looking around the park. “Scott, are you sure this is a good idea?”

Lydia shrugs, “I’ve been watching a lot of Buffy. The whole female slayer thing is really inspirational.”

“Lydia,” Stiles says, hands firm on his baseball bat. “This isn’t Buffy. This is Beacon Hills.”

Malia rolls her eyes, “What is Buffy?”

“A television show,” Stiles says pointedly, eyes narrowed on Lydia.

“Well, I mean if I’m not expected to pull out some jiu-jitsu on the Benefactor’s assassins, then why did you bring me here? I’m the only one here without a weapon and without any sort of physical advantage.”

“Scream at them,” Malia says dryly.

Lydia scoffs.

“I’m here!” Liam shouts, running over to them across the field. He has something in his hand.

Pulse quickening, Lydia’s eyes go wide. “Liam,” she yells at him, “Liam! Who’s with you? Who followed you?”

Before she can get an answer everything goes quiet. Her lips fall apart at the same time her throat constricts—nearly gagging, her eyes bulge as she sees something glowing in the fog. It’s like Liam is running in slow motion. She hears static in one ear, and then in the other, and then back in the other.

“Lydia?”

Screaming.

Howling.

Yelling.

Lydia falls to the ground on her knees and Liam and Stiles are hurrying to lift her up. “Lydia?”

“Is she okay?”

“Lydia?”

“Why did she scream?”

Becoming aware of surroundings again, as if she had suddenly been pulled into a trance, Lydia starts to hear in both ears again and she sees Scott rushing out of the fog. “It’s Ethan.”

“Ethan?” Malia’s voice is stale, unassuming.

“He’s…”

Lydia shakes her head, biting down on her lip. “No, no. Not Ethan. No. Why would Ethan be here?”

“Guess now we won’t get to ask,” Malia says, looking past them into the fog.

Stiles just holds Lydia as she cries into his shoulder.

♡

“I know you’re still in love with her,” Malia says, seemingly out of the blue. They’re in Stiles’ room, while Lydia is with Kira, Scott, and Liam at Kira’s house. “It’s okay, I’m not upset.”

Stiles raises a brow, “Wait, what?”

“I’ve been talking to Kira about it a lot. It’s common for wolves, or coyotes, without a pack to cling to a figure that is like a parent to them. Maybe that’s what you are for me, Stiles. It’s not a bad thing, is it?”

Confused, Stiles watches as she places a hand on Stiles’ shoulder. “Whatever I feel for you, whether it’s love or admiration or friendship, it makes me want you to be happy. And Lydia is my friend, too.”

“Malia…”

“I’m serious,” Malia says. “You guys are in love with each other. You reek of it.”

“I don’t know, Malia. I care about you a lot. I don’t want you to think I ever didn’t.”

Tossing her hair, Malia grins. “I know you do, doofus. That’s why I’m telling you that you need to kiss Lydia. And have sex.” His eyes go wide at the last bit, but he smiles at her anyway.

“Thanks,” Stiles barks a laugh. “I don’t even know if Lydia feels the same way, though.”

“She does.” Malia rolls her eyes. “Do you need her to write it on her forehead? Besides I’ve heard her talk to Kira about you when they think I’m not listening. I think they forget how good I can hear.”

“How well,” Stiles smirks.

“How well what?”

“Nothing,” he laughs, and Malia pounces on him, hugging him tight.

“We’re still best friends, though, so don’t even think of forgetting about me once you and Lydia start having sex.”

“Okay,” Stiles squints. “See, Malia, that’s kinda one of those things you just don’t say to people. Besides, a relationship is about a lot more than sex, you know?”

“Fine,” she says, “well, when you guys start doing whatever you plan to do,” Malia corrects herself, “Don’t forget about me.”

Stiles nods. “It’s not like we’re just going to have this normal courtship or something. I mean we still have assassins coming after most of our pack, remember?”

“It sucks,” Malia notes. Stiles nods in response.

♡

“What are you studying?”

Lydia spins on her heel at the sound of the voice, her eyes landing on a boy she actually knows the name of, laughing as a small splash of the mix of vodka and raspberry lemonade splashes out of her cup, ending up on the floor. She’s seeing stars and smelling roses in the kitchen of Ryan Stark’s house.

“I’m studying astrophysics,” she says, eyes catching the light.

Ryan’s eyes widen, “wow, really?”

“No, silly.” Lydia chuckles. “I might do Chemistry but I’m thinking about studying fashion or something. I like math,” she’s slurring way too much but she doesn’t care. “But who wants to do math all their fucking life, right? Like the rest of forever?”

“So fashion? Do they even have fashion as a major at Columbia?” Ryan grins, pulling Lydia closer to him by putting his hands on her waist a tugging gently.

The touch is like a shock to her system, like a threat or a promise, but one she doesn’t want to make. She feels Jackson’s hand on her back and then Aiden’s fingers on her waist. It makes her stomach churn.

“Hey,” Lydia laughs, pushing away from him, stumbling a little.

“What?” Ryan pulls back, trying to press a kiss to her neck.

Frowning, Lydia steps back, unsteady. “I don’t want to… I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, okay,” Ryan laughs at her, as if he didn’t hear her, grabbing a fistful of the back of her dress and pulling her in. She’s hardly capable of standing up on her own at this point, and she whimpers when he mouths at her neck again. Her stomach churns again, like she’s going to be sick, but she can’t pry his arms off her.

“Hey, asshole,” comes a voice, and she turns her head to see that Stiles and Scott are standing in the doorway of the kitchen, and suddenly things are quiet.

Lydia isn’t sure exactly in what order things happen but she hears some girls shrieking and then she feels herself fall backwards into Scott’s arms — and then she sees Stiles’ fist collide with Ryan’s face.

Stiles is still shaking out his hand on the ride home. She doesn’t remember getting out of the house or Scott helping her into the vehicle. It’s quiet, for a minute or so, but then Stiles turns to face her.

“What is wrong with you, Lydia?” Stiles cries. He cries it, angrily, and with the saddest tinge to his voice.

Lydia allows her head fall against the window in the backseat. Her mind is still fairly clouded from the vodka-lemonade mix she drank earlier; she is aware of the tears sliding down her cheeks, but ignores them in favor of mumbling, “Party girls don’t get hurt.”

“What?” Stiles and Scott ask at the same time.

But Lydia has already passed out in her seat.

♡

When Lydia opens her eyes, her mother is sitting on the couch in her room, arms crossed, eyes narrowed and jaw clenched—her signature pissed off face plastered on, ready to lecture her.

“Mom?” She taps at her phone and checks the time. “Why aren’t you at work?”

“Maybe the same reason you’re not at school?” Her mom stands, arms falling to her side. “Lydia, what the hell is going on with you? And why is Stiles sleeping in our living room?”

Lydia rolls her eyes, and clutches her head, wincing at the dull throbbing. “What?” Stiles? On the couch?

“Listen, I understand you’re hurting. I understand that life isn’t going as smoothly as you’d like it to. I understand all of that but you’re being destructive and you need to get it together, Lydia.”

Her mother just sighs. “I’m going to work now that I know you’re fine. There’s coffee in the pot. When you feel better, we are having a serious discussion.” She bends down and presses a kiss to Lydia’s head and frowns. “I love you,” she says as she leaves, while looking like she’d like to say more.

Lydia sits up in her bed, exhaling sharply. She throws the blanket off of her and makes her way downstairs. “Stiles?”

He’s there, rubbing his eyes and eating a banana at her kitchen table. “Hey.”

“Hey,” she gulps, and remains still in the doorway. “What’re you doing here?”

“Uh,” Stiles shrugs. “Don’t you remember last night at all?”

Lydia shakes her head slowly. Her memories are blurred from what must’ve been alcohol.

“Yeah, didn’t think so. Lydia, are you okay? I mean, no. Obviously you’re not okay but I…” Stiles stands up and claps his hands together. “I can’t watch you do this to yourself, Lydia. I can’t.”

“I’m fine, Stiles.” She crosses the tiled floor to open the refrigerator and grab a glass of milk but Stiles interrupts her, handing her a mocha coffee before she can reach the handle. “Thanks.”

Stiles rubs at the back of his neck. “You’re too perfect, Lydia. You’re too perfect and too smart, and too sassy and too beautiful and confident to do this to yourself.”

“Beautiful?” Lydia laughs. “I’m wearing sweatpants and a fucking Forever 21 tank top, Stiles.” Her head throbs. She wants to bury her face in her pillow.

“I think you’re beautiful in sweatpants and a fucking Forever 21 tank top, Lydia, don’t you get that?” Stiles is exasperated, worn.

“Thanks,” Lydia says, looking at him, fighting tears, and looks down at the floor. She holds the coffee close to her chest, in front of her heart.

Before any more time is wasted, Stiles takes the coffee cup from her hands and sets it on the counter. There is something in him that tells him now is the time, that there’s no better moment, when of course there would be a thousand better moments. And it happens so, so fast that neither of them are sure how it happened:

They’re kissing. He’s got a hand on the nape of her neck and his lips are slowly melting into hers. When he pulls back, she gasps, eyes closed and lips trembling.

“Why’d you do that?” Lydia asks, eyes slowly meeting his, heart beating loud in her ears.

“Because you’re beautiful…” Stiles might not have meant to say it, but he meant what he said. He looks away, to the toaster, to the blender, to the microwave, to anything but her eyes because he isn’t sure how she’ll—

They’re kissing again. This time Lydia’s pressing her lips to his. This time his hands lift to hold her cheeks and the air lost between them somehow fills them up, makes them feel like they’re floating.

“And just to be clear,” Stiles stutters, pulling away briefly, “Malia and I aren’t dating or anything.”

Lydia offers him half a smile and rolls her eyes, “Good to know. Is she going to hate me?”

“Quite the opposite,” Stiles says. “I think she’s gonna want to third-wheel a lot.”

“We probably could use a werecoyote bodyguard,” Lydia notes.

“Probably,” Stiles shrugs. “I still have a few bats left.”

He opens his mouth to say more, but before he can, Lydia shuts him up with a kiss. “So can you handle dating a banshee who works at a supermarket and has constant emotional breakdowns?”

A lump forms in his throat, but he speaks past it: “If you can handle dating a lame, non-supernatural being who’s been possessed by an evil spirit and is too clever and amazingly witty for his own good.”

“I think I can handle it,” Lydia says, snorting and grabbing her coffee off the counter. “Let’s just watch a movie and invite someone over who can defend us in case an assassin comes after us, hmm?”

Stiles nods, the lump in his throat growing smaller. He’s sure that, for a moment, he sees the light catch Lydia’s eye in the same way it used to, before Allison and Aiden were dead. Before any of this shit happened, before she ever looked so sad, so broken. Before he knew how broken she could be. For a moment, he’s sure he sees her looking happy. His heart may or may not leap at the thought of causing Lydia to feel genuine happiness.

So he just nods, smiling and following Lydia to the living room, fingers entwined with hers.

Because, maybe they are in danger, and maybe things will never go back to how they used to be, but they’ve dealt with plenty, and as long as they have each other they know can deal with so much more.


End file.
